Page 2 of King of Obsession

Both were blurred and unclear, but it’d be enough for me to recognize them at first glance.

‘You’re the only one for it,’ he ended.

I was.

I also was not one for parties, and any excuse to leave was enticing.

‘You can count on me,’ I growled.

‘Bene,’ my father rasped.

He tucked the paper back in his pocket and pulled me close into a hug imbued with his cologne and the scent of his cheroot.

After a buss of both cheeks, he left.

Heat seeking toward my radiant and beautiful mother, who stood with her sisters gossiping on the edges of the dance floor.

I found Lorenzo by the cocktail tables, where the stacks of towering antipasti and platters of endless deliciousness were lit up.

A golden light pierced through the trees on the castle ruins, leaves fluttering in the warm breeze.

‘Arrivederci,’ I drawled, tugging him into a farewell hug.

‘Another not-so-delicate mission?’

‘Si.’

With his brains,sprezzatura, and debonair panache, Lorenzo was destined to be the future head of the famiglia.

As such, the dirty work was left to me, head capo of the Calibrese clan, for I never ran from a good fight. I lived for it.

Lorenzo nodded, raising his glass. ‘Va bene. We’ll probably be here all night, so swing by after,’ he said. His gaze flicked to our other two brothers, Valerio and Vitto, who were chasing girls in the garden arbors.

‘Fuck, you won’t be here. You’ll be off rutting in between the legs of one of those women eyeing you from the singles table.’

‘Cazzo,’ he cursed after me, but already his eye was wandering.

Lorenzo adjusted his silk tie and flashed his signature debonair grin. ‘Another conquest awaits,’ he announced, winking at me.

I rolled my eyes and cracked my knuckles. ‘Don’t you get tired of running after skirts?’

The fading bruises on my jaw twinged as I spoke - souvenirs from my latest bare-knuckle bout in a seedy Neapolitan warehouse.

‘Don’t you ever get exhausted trading blows with ruffians and lowlifes?’ Lorenzo turned to me, eyebrow arched.

His tailored attire and cravat were crisp perfection, not a hair out of place—a contrast to my wild leonine tresses and open-necked white shirt under my fitted suit.

‘To each his own, I suppose,’ I shrugged. ‘Careful you don’t break a nail out there, Casanova.’

‘I can butter up a willing lay for you, mofo,’ Lorenzo chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder.

I snorted. ‘You can have the ladies. I prefer to let my fists do the talking.’

‘Si, and what poetry they fuckin’ weave,’ Lorenzomurmured. ‘Fratello, when will you let go and have some fun?’

I canted a brow and grumbled, ‘Renzo, you know if there’s one thing I avoid, it’s letting go and having fun. Living it up is something I leave to you.’

‘While you brood from the sidelines and look on.’

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